


Hourglasses, hourglasses

by Amazaria



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting someone's hero complex and other things you don't expect to do on a Tursday morning, Gen, Or as canon compliant as possible, POV Outsider, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Spiderman:Far From Home, The author has not seen Endgame or Far From Home, kinda!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazaria/pseuds/Amazaria
Summary: Spiderman sits up a little, wincing all the way; puts his back against one of the two miserable trees, trying to calm his breathing. "You can go," he breathes out, choking back sobs and probably pain too. "You- you can go, I'll be- I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be okay, I swear."It sounds rehearsed; or, no, familiar. Like he's been in that position a thousand times; like he's encountered a thousand people who wanted to save him, but didn't know how, and he turned them all away with a clumsily-executed reassuring lie."I can't just leave you," Eli retorts, and then crouches down to face the man, startled into action by indignation. "You're- you're bleeding! And it's cold, and- I can't just leave you.""I'll survive!" Exclaims Spiderman, gesturing towards his timer, eyes wide, like the fact that he's guaranteed a worse moment sometime ahead in his life is somehow reassuring enough for Eli to leave him.(or: the AU in which everyone has a timer on their wrist, counting down to the worst moment of their life.)(or: in which a civilian stumbles onto an injured Spiderman, and they have a conversation.)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Happy Hogan, Peter Parker & Oc, Peter Parker & Rest and Happiness
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70
Collections: Sake Ceremony 2020





	Hourglasses, hourglasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wordlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordlet/gifts).



_"Hey, Mr. Trailblazer,  
[...]  
It's strange how the days layer,  
And weigh on you years later.  
  
'Cause it don't stop,  
No, it don't end.  
Oh, when the seams will start to wearing thin-  
Oh, and we'll see if the same thing goes for them."_

Matt Maeson, Straight Razor [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lt4K6538-6k)

* * *

Eli's first though, when he comes across the crumbled form of Spiderman in between two trees in the middle of a park, is, predictably enough, _what the fuck._

He's been trying to stop swearing, but that one feels warranted. _Spiderman_ is _crumbled_ between two miserably tiny, and frankly depressing trees. It is 6 in the morning, on a Thursday. It's the middle of January. _Spiderman_ is _unconscious_ in the middle of a deserted park.

(His suit is torn. There's blood. Eli is trying _very hard_ to not think about the blood.)

Eli steps hesitantly forward, enough that he can distinguish the hero's body in the dim light provided by the streetlights ahead in the still pitch-black streets. Just as _what the fuck_ fades from his mind, and _what if he's dead_ start to take its place, the situation gets both increasingly better and increasingly worse.

Increasingly better, because Spiderman is sobbing, which means he's not dead. Increasingly worse, because _Spiderman is sobbing_ , which means Eli is alone with a sobbing superhero, in an empty park, in the middle of the winter, at 6 in the morning.

"Uh," says Eli, as eloquent as he always is. "Uh. Spiderman? Do you need- uh- help?"

Spiderman's head shoots up. Eli distantly registers that his mask is torn over his right cheekbone, and that there's a truly worrying amount of blood pouring from his chin and above his left eyebrow. Eli also registers that Spiderman looks much more fragile than he does on a screen.

( _Never meet your heroes,_ goes the proverb, but Eli's nearly sure it's not because you'll suddenly be hit by the realization that they can die just as easily as you can.

Spiderman looks bigger than life on a phone's screen- swinging ahead and into danger, throwing quips and saving lives left and right.

Here, in this deserted alcove in a forgotten corner of New York, he looks painfully vulnerable, devastatingly human.)

"I'm _fine_ ," answers Spiderman through his tears.

He coughs, once or twice, and raises his hand, dirty and bloodied as well, to his face to wipe his tears. He seems to realize too late that he's still wearing his mask, and that as such there are no tears for him to wipe. He lets his arm fall, defeated, and as he does so his sobs seem to get even painful than before.

Eli, mechanically, follows the man's gaze, and lands on the hero's wrist, uncovered but not bloodied.

_Uh,_ he thinks _, that sure is a timer._

(Eli's timer is still counting down, as most of his friends' are.

His mother's stopped the day of her miscarriage. It's most likely what saved her; the physical reaction that comes with your timer going stark white against your skin, your body literally going in overdrive to save you.

His father's timer is still going down, 24:00 to 00:01 then back up to 24:00, without ever reaching zero completely. Like most people, it'll probably reach zero on the day of his death, and minimize the pain and fear.)

Spiderman's timer reads 17 hours and 47 minutes to go. Eli's probably does too; it _is_ somewhere around six in the morning.

Eli wrenches his gaze from the perfectly normal timer, and back to the sobbing man before him.

"You don't _seem_ fine, though," he counters as softly as he can, which is very softly indeed. "You're bleeding. A _lot._ "

Spiderman laughs in the middle of his somewhat-dwindling tears, possibly to reassure Eli. 

(He just sounds in pain and scared.

He sounds- younger than Eli expected. Less larger than life, more real.)

"I've had worse," Spiderman says, and then, desperately, "I _will_ have worse."

Eli shakes his head and feels extremely underqualified for this.

"I mean, I guess so? You really look like you could use _a lot_ of medical attention, though, so that's not a very good excuse."

Spiderman deflates completely. "I'll be fine. You don't need to worry. I just- I really thought this would be the worst it would ever get. I _really_ believed-"

_Oh,_ thinks Eli, as his own personal hero starts sobbing anew. _Oh._

(Your timer counts down to the most terrifying moment of your life -or most painful, the interpretations vary. It makes your pain duller, your mind sharper, your body heal more easily. It happens only once in your life.

(It is understood by no one in the scientific community and is probably the source of a thousand headaches for scholars every day.)

To most that's a comfort- to most, it means, _if it ever goes bad here's this safety net I have._ It means, _It'll be horrible but it won't hurt as bad as it could._

But-

But Eli never thought of it as meaning, _everything will get worse. Whatever you're feeling right now -however small, and hurt, and defeated, and tired- is nothing compared to what's coming._

It's- it's incredibly discouraging, taken like that. It certainly justifies sobbing in a hidden park, alone, on a cold Thursday morning.

They say, _once you get to zero it can only get better_ ; it's easy to forget that it also means, _before you reach zero it can always get worse._ )

"I-," Eli starts, and then falters. What is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to do? He's still standing, hands unclenched, eyes probably wide and the panic clear on his face. 

Spiderman sits up a little, wincing all the way; puts his back against one of the two miserable trees, trying to calm his breathing. "You can go," he breathes out, choking back sobs and probably pain too. "You- you can go, I'll be- I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be okay, I swear."

It sounds rehearsed; or, no, familiar. Like he's been in that position a thousand times; like he's encountered a thousand people who wanted to save him, but didn't know how, and he turned them all away with a clumsily-executed reassuring lie.

"I can't just _leave you_ ," Eli retorts, and then crouches down to face the man, startled into action by indignation. "You're- you're bleeding! And it's cold, and- I can't just _leave you."_

"I'll survive!" Exclaims Spiderman, gesturing towards his timer, eyes wide, like the fact that he's guaranteed a worse moment sometime ahead in his life is somehow reassuring enough for Eli to leave him. "I'm fine, I mean- and you probably have things to do, and-"

"I'm pretty sure my boss will cut me some slack if I tell him I'm late because I had to save _Spiderman._ "

Spiderman frowns. "Why would he?"

"Because you're _Spiderman_ ," answers Eli mechanically, and then shakes his head and realizes that he somehow got distracted from the blood and wounds and possibly life-threatening injuries. "That's not the point, though!"

"No, no, wait," protests Spiderman, and apparently he's surprised enough that his sobs subside. "Why would saving _me_ earn you some slack?"

"Uh," says Eli, his indignation fading into confusion and taking all of his confidence with itself. "Because you're a hero? Because you saved the universe-"

"I didn't, though," cuts Spiderman, still frowning.

"Well, you fought there, at least! That's more than most people did. And- and you're still fighting."

Spiderman opens his mouth, and Eli can feel a protest coming- things like _others are fighting too_ and _it's what everyone would do,_ maybe, so he adds:

"You're protecting us. It- it means a lot, okay? You protect us, and you don't ask for anything in return. I've met so many people you saved- _of course_ my boss will understand if I had to miss work to help our collective hero."

Spiderman looks wide-eyed.

"But- but I'm not a hero," he mutters.

(It hits Eli that Spiderman might be concussed. That would explain the confusion, wouldn't it?)

"You are," he states, and the conviction in his voice would be embarrassing if this wasn't so important. "If anyone in the world is, you are. You're the first."

At that Spiderman definitely looks indignant.

"I'm not! Mr. Stark was there way before me! And Captain America was technically a hundred years old, so, I mean-"

"No, yeah, they were there, but they were- unreachable, I guess. They showed up during worldwide disasters. But you- you're here, you know? You're here when there's a fire, and when a bridge collapses, and when someone lost their daughter in a park and the night fell all at once. You're- you're _here._ "

"I'm not always, though. I just- I'm not a hero. Or if I am everyone is, 'cause- well, I climb on walls, but beyond the physical stuff I'm not _special_."

"Yeah you are," states Eli with the most confidence he's ever had. "Even with your timer still counting down- even knowing that at one point it'll get worse, you're still rushing into those disasters to help people, right? Even if you might die. Even if it's so terrible you feel like every time it happens it's got to be the _worse moment in your life._ You can't- you can't do that, you can't do it over and over again, and expect me to agree when you say you're not a hero."

There's a moment of solemnity, suspended in the air; and then Eli realizes the earnestness in his voice and falls silent, embarrassed, his gaze leaving Spiderman sitting on the ground to fall on his own shoes.

"I'm so tired, though," whispers Spiderman. "And I'm so scared."

(And he sounds so _young,_ so vulnerable, so resigned to his own misery that for a moment Eli wishes they could switch places and allow him to rest.)

"I don't think that makes you less of a hero," murmurs Eli back.

"Doesn't it, though? Mr. Stark- Mr. Stark died, and he didn't seem scared. We all went head to head with Thanos and nobody seemed scared, and I was pretending _so hard_ , and it feels like all I've been doing since is just pretending-"

"I don't think that makes you any less of a hero," repeats Ei, more forceful his time. "You do so much, and you barely have help anymore, and you keep going still! And- and people look up to you, children but adults too, and, and-"

"Okay, okay!" Cuts Spiderman, looking a little panicked at the conviction in a stranger's voice. "Okay, but-"

He stops himself, and looks mutedly at his hands, cut and covered in a mix of cement and glass. "But even if I am, it doesn't feel like it. It feels like- like I'm flying into these disasters and barely coming out with my life, and they keep coming faster, and all I can do is barely keep the problem from getting worse when I'm supposed to _solve it._ And sometimes I can't even do that! And it feels like- it just feels like everything is gradually getting worse, and you know, it wasn't that way- it wasn't that way before. When Mr. Stark was still- when they were all still-"

_Alive._

"So take a break," whispers Eli, as gently as he can, and Spiderman laughs once, tired and hopeless, and answers:

"And then _what?_ "

There's no easy answer. _And then what? Then do it all again, and take a break again, and fight again, and one day the worst moment of your life will come; and maybe you'll survive it, or maybe you won't._ But Eli's not cruel enough, or brave enough, to say it out loud, so he just stays silent. Spiderman sighs.

"Just- I can't take a break. I can't. People die, if I'm not here. People _die._ "

"But you can't keep going like this," pleads Eli, gesturing to the body in front of him and not sure what he's pointing out, the cuts and bruises or the bone-deep exhaustion and mantle of grief draped over too-thin shoulders. "You'll- you _can't._ "

"But they did. Mr. Stark did- all of them did-"

"You're not them," interrupts Ei, almost too fiercely, and suddenly this isn't unknown territory anymore; suddenly this an argument with a stranger on the Internet, in a bar, on the subway. Suddenly it's just someone spitting on an individual who dedicates his life to saving people, and Eli being sick of it; suddenly it's a comparison between people and no one caring about actually _matters._

But Spiderman seems to take it as a reproach.

"I know I'm not," he mumbles, almost apologetically. "I know."

"No- that's not what I meant. It's not a _bad_ thing. I- Nobody's going to blame you for resting- or at least _I_ won't. We don't want you to die, and this is not your job. You didn't sign up for this, you should be able to stop."

"But that's what you don't understand! If I stop people _die_! And that means- that means I could have saved them, and I just _didn't,_ " answers Spiderman. He continues, gesturing towards his timer: "Until this starts to count down, I can't take a break, because I have a guarantee I'll get out of it. I have a guarantee that I'll survive, and if I can save just one person more than I _have to_ go."

"No, you don't," states Eli, and spares a second to remember how exactly he came to be arguing with his personal hero on a cold Thursday morning. "Listen- do you believe your life is predetermined? Do you believe the moment that the moment _this"_ -at that Eli thrusts his wrist forward, rolling up his sleeve to show the painted leather bracelet that covers his timer- "starts counting down will be the same no matter what you do?"

(It's a real question, a very divisive one for some people. Does fate exist? Are our lives already decided before our birth?

Or are timers just made of probabilities, _given your 57.000 choices here is when your life will be the most terrible?_ )

Spiderman looks down.

"No. No, I think what we do matter."

"Right," says Eli confidently. "So if you don't allow yourself to rest- if you keep going into these disasters exhausted, and apprehensive, and hurt- you'll be more likely to die. You'll be more likely to make mistakes. You'll be more likely to cause your worst moment to come faster, won't you?"

Spiderman groans.

(He sounds so _young-_ how old is he, really? Does Eli really want to know?

He has to be an adult, at least, right? Right?)

"I know. I _know._ You're not the first person to tell me this, but- people will _die,"_ counters Spiderman, sounding genuinely heartbroken.

Eli softens.

( _How can he care so much,_ a part of him wonders, _how can he see so much, crime and cruelty and despair and death, and still be there? How can he?_

_How can he not care? Why would he do this if he didn't care? Every hero starts because they care. Everything good in this world is because people care,_ answers the rest of him.)

"Maybe," Eli admits, voice back to a whisper where before it was impassionated. "Maybe, but that'll never be your fault. Doctors aren't held accountable for the people that die while they sleep. You shouldn't be either."

"But-"

"What, do you blame doctors for not staying awake at all times?" He asks, a hint of humor piercing through the seriousness of his voice, just so.

"Of course not, but that's not the same-"

"It's the same thing to me. You save people. They save people. They need to rest or they'll make mistakes that will endanger their patients' lives. You need to rest or you'll make mistakes that will endanger the lives of the people you're rescuing- and _yours_! The only difference is that most of the time doctors actually get paid, and to my knowledge, you don't."

"No, I don't," agrees Spiderman, seemingly taken aback by Ei's gentle confidence. "I still don't think it's the same. I mean-"

"I think it is. I think you do much more than doctors, actually. And you do it alone, and- and- please just take a break. Go on vacation, go hike somewhere, spend a week with a friend, I don't know, just rest. And actually, you know what-" decides Eli, as he undoes his leather bracelet from his wrist: "Here. Take this, put it over your timer, you deserve a break from this too."

"What?" Says Spiderman, eyes wide and gesturing frantically; if he was taken aback before, he's definitely panicking now. "Wait- no, I can't take this, I mean, it must mean a lot to you-"

It kinda does, because it was a gift from a friend, but it also doesn't, because the friend in question would have ripped it off from Eli's wrist themselves to give it to Spiderman.

"You do so much for this city. You should be allowed to not stare at the constant reminder that things are going to get really hard one day. Most people should be allowed, but you most of all."

(It's pretty normal in certain cultures to cover up your timer- in others, it's frowned upon. These days, it mostly depends on the person.

Eli, despite not even knowing Spiderman's first name, has a feeling the man keeps it uncovered out of a sense of responsibility.

Eli thinks that Spiderman should let go of his sense of responsibility for once.)

"But then I won't know when it comes-"

"It's not like you'll be able to stop it," Eli reminds him gently, and Spiderman deflates.

(There are a thousand theories on how timers work. The most popular two, of course, is that either the moment it reaches zero is predestined from one's birth, or it varies a thousand, a hundred of thousand times in your life, depending on your choices. There's no way to know; timers only show 24 hours ahead.

Here's what's sure: once your timer starts truly counting down -once the numbers on your wrist say 03:24 hours to go despite it being the middle of the morning-, you can't stop the moment from happening, no matter what you do.)

"I know. I _know_ ," repeats Spiderman. "It still feels like I should- be aware. 'Cause my worse moment will probably involve people dying, you know, and it's _my job_ to save them, and-"

"It's not your job," protests Eli quietly, again, and moves on before the hero can respond: "And you deserve a break. You'll save people no matter what, won't you? You don't need your timer for that, so just- please, just take this shortcut. You go through so much. Nobody will begrudge for not being on edge all the time. You're our hero. We want you _happy._ "

Spiderman looks at him, quiet, quiet, quiet still, like he hasn't ever seen kindness, or like he's not used to it being so direct.

"Please. _Please._ I know you're not likely to ever take a break, and I just- I just want to help. You do _so much,_ it's not fair, I just- I want to repay you, at least a little."

"You don't need to," reassures Spiderman, missing Eli's point entirely.

"I know that! I just- please, okay? It'd mean a lot to me."

He's still clutching his leather bracelet in one hand, a calm lake painted on one side and nonsensical green spirals on the other. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see his own timer, minutes slipping by him again and again and again; he's definitely going to be late to work.

Spiderman gets up hesitantly, reaching out his hand to take it; at some point during their conversation, the wounds on his face stopped bleeding as much as they did in the beginning, but he's still covered in dust and debris. Eli has no idea from which disaster Spiderman had stumbled out of when he saw him on his way to work; probably if he opens his phone the news app would tell him, but he doesn't think he wants to look, doesn't want to know what it took to unravel the man before him.

Spiderman takes the bracelet, and then stands there, hands limp at his sides. The sun has risen and he looks somewhat out of place in his ripped costume, when Eli is used to seeing him swinging into disasters pristine and confident.

"Thank you," he says. "For- uh- everything. I'm sure you had things to do, and-"

"Wait," interrupts Eli, horror slowly dawning on him as he takes in all the dried blood he hadn't seen in the darkness, "wait, we need to get you to a hospital, how did I _forget this,_ you're basically _bleeding out-_ "

Spiderman takes a step back. "I'm fine!" He squeaks, and sure, he may sound like it, but Eli's well into his panic-daze now and frankly given the amount of blood on the hero the sentence means _nothing._

"You're not! You're obviously not, and I stood there and lectured you, and you _let me,_ what the fuck-"

"I'm not that badly hurt! It's all- look, I heal really quickly-" tries to say Spiderman, but he has completely lost Eli.

"I should have called 911 right away, what the fuck was I thinking, and it's so cold and I read somewhere that blood loss makes it easier to catch a cold or whatever and you've been sitting out there _forever-_ "

"Not that long, really, I'll be okay-"

"- and you have head wounds and those are really bad, and none of your cuts have been disinfected-"

"Okay, I'm going to go now," calls Spiderman uneasily, hands ready to shoot out their characteristic web, and Eli's attention snaps back to him, incredulous.

"You can't! You're not going to swing with head wounds, you're going to miss or- or hit a wall- or _fall-_ "

"I called a friend to pick me up before you arrived," admits Spiderman sheepishly. "That's why I was there, actually."

"Oh," says Eli, deflating completely. "Oh, that makes sense, you wouldn't have been at ground level otherwise-"

He feels kinda stupid. _Of course_ Spiderman wouldn't try to swing home that badly injured. He's not reckless- he hasn't survived this long by throwing himself into disasters and hoping for the best.

"Thank you again," repeats Spiderman, looking earnest. Sometime during Eli's panicking the bracelet ended up over his own timer; Eli stares at it for a second, feeling oddly touched.

"Are you going to keep it there?" He asks, gesturing towards Spiderman's arm, and the hero looks down.

"I don't know," he admits. "Probably. I'll still sneak looks though, but- thank you. Really. It means- it means a lot."

"Of course," answers Eli automatically. Spiderman stands there, looking awkward in his ripped and damaged suit, and then waves at him and seems to regret it immediately. "Well," he carries on, "I guess- uh- goodbye? Thank you for everything."

Eli nods once, twice, and then Spiderman shoots out a web and starts to swing away, though keeping closer to the ground than usual. Eli's eyes follow him until he's out of sight, and then he lets out a sigh and lets himself fall on the cold packed dirt.

_What the fuck just happened._

oOo

Two blocks away from there, Happy Hogan opens his car door for one distressingly-injured hero.

"What took you so long, kid? I've been here forever! I'm not your personal driver, you know," he asks, fake-exasperated and acting like he wouldn't have sat there for about 12 hours if that was what Peter had needed him to do.

"Sorry, Happy. Thanks for coming, I told Karen not to call you but she insisted, " mumbles the teenager. He curls up into the back of the car while Happy starts up the car. Happy tries to judge if the kid's injuries warrant breaking the speed limits, then gives up; he'll do it anyway, if only so Friday does not get another opportunity to send Pepper a video of him carrying an asleep-Spiderman out of the car. Peter moves against the window and winces at the grime he left against the clean pane of glass, but keeps talking: "I ran into someone, and they were nice. They gave me a gift and told me I should take a break."

"Right," says Happy.

"They were nice!" Says Peter happily. "I think I made them late, though..."

_You're worth it, kid,_ does not say Happy, and keeps on driving silently while Peter keeps talking.

The sun rises on New York City.

(Friday sends yet another video to Pepper later this morning.)

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone, looking at Peter: wow, this tall child looks terrible! Get some rest, tall child! You can't keep burning the candle at both ends!


End file.
